You wanna talk about it?
by ThatRegularBro
Summary: The following story follows the events of the episode "Steak Me Amadeus"
1. Wanna talk about it?

**You wanna talk about it?**

Pt. 1

The sun was setting in the distance up there on the roof. His eyes were practically sunk. He felt like a corpse, or an old vine, hanging from the rafters, unwilling to stay but too weak to let go.

He heard the window crack behind him. The slight change in air pressure pulled at his feathers. They felt as though they were weak enough to be plucked by the gentle breeze.

A couple cans clinked together and a short familiar face voicelessly sat beside him.

The shorter friend was in a rare empathic sort and cracked one of the cans open. He handed it to Mordecai, who apathetically sipped at it. He hoped the hoppy drawl would sooth his soul. In the least, he'd feel different.

He'd felt many things with Margaret. She'd intimidated him with her beauty; he'd been swept away with his own thoughts of their togetherness. He'd been afraid of her rejecting his affections, and he'd felt the joys of touching her hands and body. He'd felt her fingertips running through his hair, her voice against his ear, her fears, her hopes, and her dreams. He'd felt the carpet in her apartment, the warm waters of her shower, her remarkably soft breasts, the plush pillows in her bed, and the scar on the underside of her chin that no one else knew about.

But he'd never felt anything like this. His ego was shattering beneath his headache.

"Hey," a slightly nasally voice chirped.

It almost registered in Mordecai's head, but the throbbing shame kept beating him back out of reality.

"Dude," Rigby voiced again, nudging Mordecai with his elbow. "Snap out of it for a sec."

Mordecai shifted his gaze like a crane carrying a heavy load and his gaze met with his friend's sorry eyes. They knew too much. Mordecai turned away quickly and heaved a sniff that beset a flurry of tears.

Rigby had seen Mordecai at his worst, but to see him cry hurt. It's not as though Mordecai ever hid his feelings, either; he just hadn't had many reasons to cry since he was very young. He was mostly good at heart, and he kept his head up most of the time, but this time he was broken.

The blue jay crushed the mostly-empty can with the last of his strength and tossed it aside, bringing his knees closer to his face and hiding behind them.

Rigby rubbed his friend's arm.

Mordecai pulled away almost immediately.

A short time passed, and Rigby tried again, this time to no resistance.

"I just…" Mordecai choked on his own words.

"I know man," Rigby said, face laden with empathy.

"I fucking love her, man…"

"I know you do," Rigby said, sighing.

"And… I tried so fucking hard, you know?" Mordecai said, wincing and clutching the bridge of his nose "and for what?"

Rigby patted his friend on the back and let him speak.

"And I can't even be mad at her, I'd be an asshole if I was even slightly mad at her. She's completely fucking blameless, and I can't even stand it," he barked angrily, before sinking back into a deep sadness.

"You can be mad," Rigby said calmly.

"Well good, because I am," Mordecai grumbled.

"Mad's better than sad, right?" Rigby smirked. Mordecai sent an angry glare his way and he sank a little.

They both faced forward and breathed quietly, watching the sun disappear behind the cold city.

After a moment, Rigby looked over again, studying Mordecai's miserable frame. His tie was crooked, his collar half popped and his shirt un-tucked.

"Dude," Rigby said. He opened his arms.

Mordecai sneered at the thought. "Get over it," he said crossing his arms.

"Dude tough shit, you need this," Rigby said, forcing the hug on his friend, who quickly forfeited his animosity and became limp with acceptance.

They let the moment last as long as it needed too, soaking up the evening air and avoiding eye contact.

"I remember one time you told me you thought of me as a brother," Rigby said.

Mordecai nodded a bit and sniffled.

"Well I just want you to know that I'm here for you, man," Rigby continued. Hey gave a hard pat and loosened his grip, leaving his hand against his friend's shoulder. "I'm normally not into… feelings and that junk. But… You're gonna get through this shit, and I'm gonna help you, any way I can."

Mordecai listened to Rigby's words, cleared his throat and nodded aggressively, trying to shake the feelings. "Hmm, hmm," he managed, wiping his eyes with his arm.

Down below, on the porch, Pops listened intently, muffling himself, touched beyond words. He was easily affected, and this was too much. The unfamiliar sincerity behind Rigby's voice, the heartbreak, the healing, it was so new. It wrenched his heart. He ran inside, up to his room and into his bed, lip quivering.

He was an eccentric, emotional old fellow.

* * *

That night, the moon hung on a tree outside, and Rigby watched it intently, thinking. His heart ached for his friend. He was worried. These feelings were new, and he couldn't shake them. He was normally able to disconnect, say something cheeky and forget about the people around him.

But this was different. Something about Mordecai's situation struck a chord. Somewhere, deep down, he knew what it was like. He'd not loved, not that he knew of, anyways. But everything about his friend's situation was wrong. He couldn't shake it.

It was hot in their room, so he got to his feet and opened the window. He peered outside. A lone red light blinked across the sky, slowly. For all he knew it could've been her, not that he really cared. She was a fine acquaintance; he just didn't feel that strongly about her.

He checked to see if Mordecai was awake. He wasn't.

Rigby took the opportunity to sneak away. He rummaged around some unseen corner of their room and returned with a crumpled paper bag stuffed full of something.

He nudged Mordecai awake, who groaned.

"What do you want?"

"Are you done feeling sorry for yourself man?" Rigby asked.

"No," Mordecai grumbled, turning over.

"Well that's too bad," Rigby said, punching his arm.

"Ow, dude fuck off," Mordecai whispered sternly, sitting up straight.

Rigby dumped the paper bag out in front of Mordecai. A small avalanche of bills and coins tumbled out of it.

"What's…?" Mordecai asked.

"It's everything," Rigby said.

"It isn't much," Mordecai said skeptically.

"Shuddup," Rigby barked, scooping it back into the bag. "Anyways, I was gonna spend it on a new bed but… I figure why not spend it on a sweet ass vacation?"

"Vacation?" Mordecai asked.

"Yeah man starting now," Rigby said.

"What? Dude no," Mordecai said. "What are you on? Benson would flip his shit if we dipped out like that."

"Alright, man, your choice," Rigby shrugged. "Milten University will be a lot funner without you anyway."

"Milten?" Mordecai said, alarmed.

"Yeah man I've been thinking about applying," Rigby said sarcastically. He walked to the door and opened it. "Heard there's some sweet babes down there."

Mordecai's eyes were fearful, but he didn't have time to think.

"Well?" Rigby said. "You coming? Bus leaves in an hour, we're gonna have to run if we don't wanna miss it."

* * *

"So what, is everyone gonna be gay again this time?" Benson asked, watching Mordecai and Rigby sneak away from the park.

"What do you think?" Skips chuckled.

"I personally think that gay and straight are just labels," Benson replied. "I think everyone is on a spectrum somewhere."

"Fair enough but that seems a little over complicated," Skips said. He was witling a medium sized branch with a short blade. "For what's going on, at least."

Benson rubbed his chin. "Stranger things have happened," he whispered.

Skips breathed in agreement. There was a silence.

"We're not…" Skips began, motioning between himself and Benson with his thumb.

"Let's leave that up for interpretation," Benson said with a smile. "It was always more fun that way."

Skips laughed again. "So you gonna fire them?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Benson asked.


	2. Life Round Here

She blushed and sighed, face pressed against a cold little window.

She'd never felt someone so warm in her life. His feathers were so soft. He wasn't too alpha; he was gentle, yet he knew when not to be. He had a domineering streak that made her toes clench when she thought about it. She had it bad. But he was gone, and she wouldn't feel his warm arms for a very long time.

Nor would she hear his calm voice, nor would she feel his lips against her own.

She missed his touch. He'd massage her, he'd undress her, or she'd undress him. Sometimes they'd hang out naked in her apartment to escape the heat, and on days when he came over after work, all grimy and wound up, she'd help him get clean. And then they'd toy with each other. The guy knew his way around a vagina, astoundingly so; more so than anyone she'd dated in the past.

And yet, they hadn't had sex. He was so damn sentimental. He wanted their first time to be special; in fact he wanted it to be the night before, when he'd confessed to her that he wanted to be committed with her.

It would've been perfect, too. She would have said yes, they would have gone back to his room, kicked Rigby out and ravaged each other then and there.

She wished he were there to say something nice, or to get her a drink, or anything like that. He had his own brand of timid sincerity. His words were like blankets. She remembered just a few nights ago, when he'd wrapped himself around her and put her in a pleasant headlock.

She wished she were still in that headlock.

* * *

The sun appeared over a rolling field, causing Rigby's reflection in the dark glass to be replaced by an amber light. He hadn't slept as well as Mordecai had. Buses always smelt like giant porta-potties, especially near the back. It was not the ideal place to rest, though Mordecai didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, Mordecai slept soundly, comfortably breaching Rigby's personal space, which was a non-issue to Rigby as long as Mordecai did not know that it was a non-issue.

Creating the illusion of distrust was essential to their relationship. Embellishing every other sentence with the word bro helped too; anything to keep their friendship alive without it entering that uncomfortable territory again.

Mordecai slowly woke up as the bus crossed state lines. He yawned, and his blue coating puffed out as he shook off the sleepiness.

Rigby kept on looking out the window. Sitting back there was oddly evocative of earlier adventures. Mostly school trips from way back in the day.

"This was a bad idea," Mordecai said, rubbing his eyes.

"You say that now," Rigby replied, "but just imagine how pumped she's gonna be when you show up."

"You say pumped but I think you mean steamed," Mordecai said, slumping into his seat.

"Dude I've said it all along… you gotta stop being afraid of her," Rigby said.

"I'm not afraid," Mordecai said.

"All you've done for the last three years is worry about what she thinks of you."

"No I haven't," Mordecai said.

"You have, and it's gotta stop. She likes you man, there's no reason you should treat her different than me or anyone else."

Mordecai crossed his arms silently.

"Don't chicken out, man. Not this time. Don't even do it for her, do it for yourself."

"I'm gonna," Mordecai said, a bit defensively.

"Good," Rigby said.

"Hm," Mordecai uttered.

There was a short silence. The bus was mostly empty, save for a few sleeping up front.

Knowing Mordecai was awake made Rigby somehow sleepier. The hypnotic rhythm of the passing countryside lulled him into a slumber as Mordecai got to his feet to stretch his legs.

* * *

At peak altitude, the plane leveled out and the buckle-light turned off. Her flight mate was a rather large woman, who had fallen asleep on the runway, so her only option was to ignore the option to move about the cabin, despite needing to pee really bad.

The stewardesses began flooding the cabin, offering services like drinks and snacks to the few lucid passengers.

Margaret asked for a coffee and a bag of cookies.

The stewardess returned pretty quickly with her things, and Margaret sipped the coffee with her legs crossed and her eyes fixated on a distant cloud.

Sherbet-pinks and velvety whites decorated the air with their delicate edges, bleeding into one-another like watercolors.

In the very least, she was where she needed to be, and despite having to make a hard choice, it felt right.

She wasn't going to let him take that away from her.

* * *

"I wonder if they've figured it out yet," Benson said.

"Probably not, they're usually pretty thick around here," Skips replied, still whittling away at the branch.

"Hm…" Benson muttered contemplatively.

"Hm," the yeti replied.

There was a short silence.

"We can't even give them a hint?" Benson said.

"Don't matter to me," Skips said, taking another slice at the branch with his blade.

There was another pause.

"Though… I'm pretty sure that was one in itself," Skips continued.


End file.
